That Empty Dream
by Art-Over-Matter
Summary: Anthony finds himself in the middle of a Los Angeles completely devoid of life...until he meets up with Ian, who's not acting like himself. Rated T for some vulgarity and mild violence.


Anthony had been in the city for a few days. He didn't remember anything before now; he just knew he had been there a while.

The worst part was that it was downtown Los Angeles. At least, he was fairly certain it was Los Angeles. At this point, he couldn't really be sure of anything.

Wait, no.

The worst part wasn't the identity of the city.

It was the fact that it was completely empty.

No cars. No people. No noise.

Nothing but some very large buildings and the miles of asphalt stretching out in every direction. And Anthony.

He wasn't exactly scared. In fact, he wasn't even as worried as he felt like he should have been.

But he didn't want to be there, either.

"Okay," he said quietly to himself. Anything louder and he would have felt even lonelier than he already did. "There are a fucking ton of buildings around here. There has to be someone in one of them. At least one of them."

He crossed the empty street, looking for cars out of habit, even though there was nothing to see for blocks and blocks. The light directing the crosswalk was out of order, and, like all the stoplights for as far as he could see, was blinking from one setting to the other. They all changed color in unison.

Red.

Green.

Yellow.

Back to red.

Over and over again.

Anthony shuddered and turned toward the closest building, an older-looking brick one. Though it had multiple floors, the bottom level was made to look like a small, cutesy sort of antique shop.

There was a bell on the door, but it made absolutely no sound as Anthony entered.

The shelves and tables around him were almost completely empty, except for one music-box like thing on a table and few wooden figurines on the display shelves by the door.

Frowning, Anthony stepped across the fluffy beige carpet and picked up the little wooden box. He'd been so lonely for the past few days that for some reason, he really wanted to hear whatever music the box would make.

He wound it up and opened the lid. A tiny colored figurine popped up and started to spin, but there was no song. No music whatsoever.

Anthony frowned as he started to look closer at the figurine. It wasn't a girl dancing, like he would have imagined.

It was Ian.

Anthony snapped the lid shut and dropped the musicless box back on the table.

Creepy.

He turned to the wooden sculptures on the shelves with a sinking feeling in his gut.

They were also Ian. The detail of Ian's bowl-cut hair, casual posture, everything—was incredible.

Anthony backed up, pushing the door open behind him as he stumbled out onto the sidewalk.

_What is this? Why were they all…Ian?_

Now that he'd been reminded of him, Anthony started to really miss Ian. What he wouldn't give to see his friend's—real—face right now.

What he wouldn't give to see _any _person's face right now.

He walked a couple more blocks down and tried going in an office building. There was no way there would be any creepy Ian figures here.

A polished wooden desk sat in the center of the room. There was a rolling office chair behind the desk and a stack of papers on top of it, but otherwise the building was empty. Anthony walked up to the desk and glanced at the stack of papers. The top one was blank, but he could see something printed on the one below. He swept the top one aside.

There, on the second page, was a black-and-white picture of Ian, staring blankly and expressionlessly at the camera.

Anthony heard footsteps running down the stairs to his right.

A few minutes ago, he might have been overjoyed.

Right now, he panicked.

He turned and ran out of the office building and charged across the street to the other sidewalk. His heart was pounding with the rush of adrenaline he'd gotten.

The worst thing was that he knew exactly what he would have seen if he'd stayed any longer.

Suddenly he didn't miss Ian anymore.

He took off walking down the street at a fast pace. As long as he stayed out of the buildings, he'd be okay. No one was pursuing him.

Right?

He shook his head and didn't look over his shoulder.

_No one is following you. No one—_

"Where are you going, Anthony?" Ian's voice. Flat and emotionless. Right behind him.

He whirled, his heart dying to run away from the man in front of him. "What are you doing, Ian?" he croaked, his voice not accustomed to a conversational volume.

Ian didn't reply. He just stared toward Anthony, his eyes focused on something in the distance. He started to walk toward Anthony, looking as if he would just run him over if he had to. Anthony scrambled out of the way, but Ian reached out and grabbed Anthony's shoulder, his eyes locking onto Anthony's face at last.

Anthony shoved him away and took off running. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew he had to get away from Ian. He was a pretty fast runner, faster than Ian in any race. He stopped in the middle of an intersection and bent over, panting.

Green.

Yellow.

Red.

Green.

The stoplights flashed together around him, as if trying to remind him that absolutely _nothing _about this situation was right.

"_Where are you going, Anthony?" _Ian's voice echoed in his head, as if he were right behind Anthony again. Then the voice said, _"You might want to look around…."_

Anthony fell to his knees, clutching his head. _Get out! Get out of my head, Ian!_

"Something wrong?" Ian said from somewhere near him, taunting.

Anthony looked up, a deer in the headlights and started in surprise. Ian was holding a pistol, and aiming it at Anthony's head.

"No! Ian, don't use that! Leave me alone!"

Ian finally made an expression; he smiled. Then he fired.

"Anthony? Dude, are you okay?" Ian asked, leaning over to shake Anthony's shoulder.

Anthony shouted in fear and surprise and sat bolt-upright in the bed, making Ian jump and step back.

Anthony clutched the bed sheets to his bare chest and looked at Ian, his eyes wide. "Get away from me!" he screamed, scrambling back as far as the bed's size would allow. "Get away!"

Ian's eyebrows knitted. "Anthony, what's wrong? It's just me. Just Ian."

"I know!" Anthony shouted at him, gathering the blankets to himself and hugging them as if they were going to protect him, or as if he just needed the comfort. "I want you to go away! No more!"

"No more _what_?"

"Just get out of my head! Get out of my—life!" he said, hurling his pillow across the room and hitting Ian square on the chest.

Ian, starting to get a little bit frightened, left the room as quickly as possible, glancing back once to see Anthony put his face in his hands.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, letting out a long breath. What was wrong with Anthony? What had happened while he was asleep?

Ian could hear Anthony making some sort of noise from the other side of the door. Was he crying? Moaning? Talking to himself?

_Get out of my life…._

Ian didn't know what Anthony was doing, but at this point, he wasn't going to stick around to find out.

Anthony was shaken. He was even more freaked out now than his dream-self had been; but then again, it was just starting to occur to him how terrifying the dream actually was.

_It's just a dream, Anthony. You're awake now. You're out of it._

It wasn't often that Anthony remembered his dreams. In fact, he almost never did. But this was a different experience than most dreams. It had been so vivid, more vivid than he had ever imagined a dream to be.

He moaned.

It was Ian's expression that haunted him. That smile, so full of genuine pleasure and malice but still looking _so much like Ian. _

_What is happening to me?_

Anthony actually felt insane. He figured he must not have been, just because he was thinking that he felt like he was, but that didn't prevent the feeling. He was crazy. He was starting to be aware that the Ian who had just been in his room was perfectly normal, but nevertheless Anthony was terrified of him. After all that loneliness, the only thing he'd been met with was his best friend trying to kill him.

_Fuck off, Anthony,_ he chastised himself._ Ian would never _actually _kill you. He doesn't even have a pistol._

Anthony shook his head, his face still in his hands. He really was insane, wasn't he? Why else would he still feel so scared to see Ian again?

He raked a hand through his messy hair and stood up, finally releasing the blankets he'd had pinned to himself the whole time. Right now, what he really needed was a nice, relaxing shower.

When Anthony had taken possibly the longest shower of his life and had finally started to calm down, he started to get dressed. He'd just grabbed a shirt when it occurred to him; where was Ian? For the last half hour he'd been blocking out any thoughts of his best friend—ever since he woke up—but now that he was beginning to feel normal again, he was a little bit worried. He hadn't heard anything from down the hall since he left his bedroom.

"Ian?" he called, his voice a little unsteady.

No reply.

Still holding his shirt in one hand, Anthony left the room and walked down the hall to the living room. No Ian.

He pulled on the black V-neck shirt as he went to open the door to the garage, where Ian's car should have been parked.

No car. No Ian.

Anthony's heart skipped a beat. He was alone again. In a completely abandoned, deserted house with no way to leave unless he just walked out the door.

He slammed the door shut as he rushed back to the living room, going up to the window to look outside. There was a person in the front yard of the house across from his. Just a normal, everyday woman. A car even drove down the street as he watched. Thank God.

_What's wrong with me?_

He knew he wasn't alone. This wasn't a dream anymore. But he felt lonely again; hollow.

He needed Ian back.

Anthony went to his room to find his phone. He turned it on and texted Ian, Dude where are u? I'm sorry about what I said. I don't know what's gotten into me.

He heard a chime downstairs. Ian had left his phone.

Ian was driving around mostly just to pass time away from the house, but he had decided to stop and get food anyway because why not.

He felt a lot toward Anthony right now. Anger, betrayal, confusion. Anthony had never acted like that before. As far as Ian knew, he'd hardly even ever had a nightmare.

Most of all, why had Anthony looked so afraid of…Ian?

Frustrated, Ian threw the food in the passenger seat of his car and got back in. Now it was time to go back and see what Anthony was doing.

And to see if Anthony still hated him.

Ian went in the house with the bag of ice cream—one carton was Ben & Jerry's, the other, some vegan coconut stuff he'd grabbed—in one hand. He was trying to act as casual as possible.

As soon as he walked into the hallway, he saw that Anthony was there waiting for him. He was showered and dressed and looked pretty normal, other than that he hadn't done anything with his hair.

"Uh, hi—" Ian was cut off by Anthony hugging him. "Um…."

Suffice it to say it was not the reaction he had been expecting.

"Ian, I'm sorry about what I said earlier, okay? Please don't think I meant any of it, I was afraid because—God, this sounds so stupid—my dream really freaked me out, okay?"

"Yeah—" Ian said, gently pushing Anthony away. "But seriously, what the fuck happened?"

Anthony laughed a bit—a nervous, not-genuine laugh. "I just—I had a dream and it wasn't like anything I'd experienced before. It was like I was hallucinating or something, it was so vivid…yeah. Uh, what'd you buy?"

"Ice cream" was Ian's underwhelming reply. He passed Anthony and went to the kitchen, setting the bag down on the counter. He looked over the counter and half-wall at Anthony. Honestly, he was a little pissed off at him. Some of the things he'd said…they hurt. It was a little hard to forgive your best friend when he'd shouted at you to get out of his life. "So you're just fine now, huh?" he asked, glancing at Anthony up and down.

"Um, yeah." Anthony shrugged, looking a little wary. He could probably sense Ian's irritation.

"Are you going to tell me what you dreamt about? I don't want to be nosy but somehow I feel like I need justification for your shit you said earlier."

"It's—uh—yeah, no. I'd really rather not. I'm kind of just trying to forget about it right now. But I am sorry. My brain was really messed up right then."

Ian sighed. "Okay. You want this?" he asked, pulling the pint of ice cream out of the bag.

Anthony smiled. "Dude, I haven't even had breakfast."

Ian shrugged.

"But okay."

Ian couldn't help but smile. He may still have felt bad about Anthony being so angry and scared around him earlier, but he would have to forgive him sometime—he wasn't a grudge-holding guy anyway.

"Alright," Ian said when they'd both dug in to their food while still standing around the kitchen counter. "You're forgiven, you lucky bastard."

Anthony smiled. "Thanks, man." He gave Ian a manly sort of one-armed side hug.

"But next time, I'm not going in your room to wake you up."

Anthony raised his eyebrows. "Fine by me." ●


End file.
